One of These Days
by ivybluesummers
Summary: The Shohoku ace player asks the help of Kogure to pass an exam that’ll decide whether he’d play basketball or not, but knowing the former’s tendencies, trancelike things are to happen. [RuKo] DISCONTINUED, please refer to Carnival Town.
1. One

**_A/N:_** I feel obliged for Bet You Love That for pointing out my mistakes (she's that good); so i somewhat edited it.Bwahaha!

_**SUMMARY:** The Shohoku ace player asks the help of Kogure to pass an exam that'll decide whether he'd play basketball or not; but knowing the former's tendencies, trancelike things are to happen._

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**ONE OF THESE DAYS

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**

Blissful noir of silence flounced through the seemingly tranquil study room of the russet-eyed, his physicality numb yet patient from all the digits that has roused confusion and stupidity at his company, a certain blue-eyed boy whose defense mechanism against those paperbacks is the most fantastic; that is, dozing off. Somehow, the ambience of the study room felt warm, not because of forty five degree Celsius temperature but from the nuisance of it all, perhaps also from an unknown source of enthusiasm that kicked the brown-eyed lad's psyche, miscellaneous and far-eyed wide. Frustration rolled down again in the chocolate-eyed creature's face, and if his memory serves him right, this sentiment has been chronic for hours.

"Rukawa, please focus on your books because tomorrow'd be the day that'll decide whether you'd play basketball or not,"

"Hnn."

Another bubble, literally; Kogure tried to hold back his temper and instead settled upon a resolve that would at least not make the whole thing futile. It was truism for Kogure to consider these happenstances; of course, it is least of the raven-haired's concerns to acquire the most bewildering grades in school, namely, 'warning' and 'probation', but he is member of basketball club and it necessarily entails... yes, academic excellence. Kiminobu never believes that intelligence is construed by such stipulation, and he is a nerd because incorrigibility is on the top list of his vocabulary. Yeah; it was habitual, customary to be exact – and seeing Kaede's head raggedly rubbing the pages of a certain English book, it was a memory as contrary but thought-provoking nonetheless.

"Kaede." That first name-calling; it was obviously semiotic, the utterance connoting gravity.

The raven-haired immediately roused his head up and looked straight at his sempai, almost sincere but not really; it would be atypical of the ace player to tremble in apprehension just because a certain bore called him by his first name. It was actually guilt; Kaede has asked Kogure to tutor him because the former doesn't want the gorilla's guts when it comes to teaching (apparently he has experienced it already). The pesky redhead is another reason because the gorilla captain offered himself to tutor Sakuragi and Mitsui. Guilt – what a beautiful word to hear.

"You're not paying attention; are you sure you want to be tutored? Akagi-san already told me to not offer any help to you guys because he said it'd be bothersome, but here I am trying my best to teach you English grammar." Obviously, Kiminobu is walking in a thin thread of patience.

"Sorry." Kaede muttered somewhere in his sighs, not sure if the russet-eyed took notice of it. He stretched out the crumpled pages of the book, drawing them out almost mechanically in growing speed. Head low and tresses still coarse but concealing his face, an anxious sweat dropped on Kogure's head. "Wha-what're you doing?"

Insecurities... was the raven-haired unsure of himself? "Stop it," Kogure's hand gently swooshed towards Rukawa's unsettling hands to, primarily, avoid mutilation in his newly bought book, and, to stop such psychosomatic behavior.

Did somebody just whisper 'crick'? Or was it 'trick'? The page was torn. Rukawa's eyes was wide for a far away stranger like him; it was as if his rival Sendoh made a three-point shot and taken the raven-haired aback, and it was again another anxiety for Kogure to endure. The atmosphere of Kogure's room remained noir, silenced in its utmost implication. As if innate in the ethics of Japanese youngsters, specifically of high school students, Rukawa stood up and prepared to leave; the ace player didn't even bother bringing pencils!

"Uh, uhm... Rukawa... sit,"

"Sorry."

"That's I think the seventh time I've heard that word from you; sit, it's okay."

Rukawa blinked; for an apathetic person like him, it was usual to ignore the patience that surrounded his life. It's a manifestation of his nature, to brag his orientation of life, which is indifference; it was somewhat odd of him to feel anxious but he actually is right now – and the predisposition Kogure offered him was a choice open for all its merit. A hour or two of lecture wouldn't hurt him he guessed; he was anesthetized from it – and tomorrow indeed would be a hellish day unless he strives for a passing grade. Yeah, passing, and Rukawa cares less of getting the highest.

"It's my fault; I'm too demanding ne?" Kogure has uttered, trying to mend the ruined book by patching tapes on them; it was futile because the torn page kept on shifting away and he has to let go of the book before the biblical apocalypse could happen in Kanagawa with flames in his eyes.

"Not at all."

"Do you want some tea? I can dredge for something in the fridge if you want,"

"No thanks."

Kogure stood up and walked towards the kitchen with immeasurable confusion swirling in his mind. Rukawa is a stoic, deadpan from any state of affairs and always slashes everything short; as derived from the little discovery he found, being indifferent was perhaps not because of impudence but because emotional security is straightforwardly earned with it. How this egoism reminds him of Mitsui! Kogure has to admit however – it was awe-inspiring; the innocence of it all is perhaps owed to the correlation between preservation of ego and fear in openness – the two are almost automatic in nature.

Kiminobu returned in the study room to find the ruined page already repaired, or at least orderly stitched from the tape. He drank his own tea with meticulousness. "Thank you for mending the book."

Rukawa looked up, actually munching on donuts, actually reading the book. "Uh... uh-huh," he uttered before drinking coffee.

"Now... here," Kogure pointed out. "When you form a sentence using the infinitive, you've got to use the base form of the verb; tell me if this sentence is right – Rukawa has to studied to pass the exam."

"Uh... right?"

Kogure sighed. "It's only an example."

"Oh. It's wrong."

"Good; now, if you use verbs 'did' you must also use the base form of the verb. Tell me if this sentence is right – Did Rukawa drank the coffee?"

"Wrong."

"Good; you're actually much better than Mitsui."

"Hnn."

"Back then, Mitsui would usually make me faint because his grammar his abhorrent. I dunno how he survived our lit class."

Rukawa's brows furrowed. "When I use the verb 'doesn't' and 'don't' I should use the base form of the verb; 'has' and 'have' are perfect tenses; ellipsis is made using three dots; the subject must agree with the verb I would use; précis is the most economic way to reiterate a certain passage while paraphrase can be longer; 'The Idiot' is an existential book by Dostoevsky; 'Satanic Verses' is a book banned by the Muslim community; the square root of four is two; the Fermat's theorem was solved by the Japanese; iron helps the hemoglobin in the blood to distribute oxygen—"

"Uh, uhm... that would be the largest string of words—" Now Kogure knows why the room suddenly became too warm for an average Japanese study room; his glasses toppled and that's all there is, fervor clinging yet in the stillness of everything that seemed to be churning, intangible miniatures of existence that created superfluous sentiments. The chocolate-eyed smelled sweat from Kaede's hours of practice beforehand, calloused hands reaching, touching. He closed his eyes whilst feeling embraced tight in the seeming starkness of the room; both kissed like it was the most natural thing to do – tea against coffee but mingling nevertheless.

Seconds after, Kogure's eyes were wide but can never fix it in Rukawa's seeming stare; his hand covered his mouth to safeguard the stirring perplexity in all the obscurities in this room – perhaps he should re-decorate it? The Feng-shui negativity must be hitting him. He is panting not from exhaustion but from all the series of this day. Kaede Rukawa, too, has this face akin to bolt from the blue – he left afterwards, not really caring if it was ethical or not. And in the isolation of Kogure, "What catch eh?"

Two days after, Kaede Rukawa failed the exam and got 'probation'; one of these days, the raven-haired is going to ask help. Again.

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_Argh, standard disclaimers apply. Reviews/flames welcome. I'm planning for a second chapter and it will be dedicated to our Highness chelating compounds. Oh well..._


	2. Two

_Standard disclaimers apply; also, I'm not that sure about all the things I've said in the fic - they may be right, maybe not. Reviews are welcome. _**This chapter is dedicated to chelating compounds.**

**CHAPTER 2

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**

Even in this predetermined situation, edginess is an air Kiminobu currently breathes – not oxygen – and how moronic was he to realize only now the upshot of it all; if his study room could straightforwardly speak, it'd yell curses at the derivative meaning of nuisance. Kogure's wound up head rested on his right palm, sweat mingling – literally – and notwithstanding its implications, which would be an unembroidered cliché, he cannot manage to tame the pale beasts of Shohoku Basketball Club; well, except Ayako that is. Books are scattered and magazines fly like eagles in a seemingly perfect day, tropical in ambience and almost apprehensive in impression; visions meet only to spark phenomena, namely, spite, hostility and rowdiness – blue and red, those were the hues. Kogure thought of an attempt to maintain the tranquility of the room, save for the solemnity of the activity they're supposed to accomplish, but it was mere thought he finally deduced, in which the utterance signified futility. It happened few days before when the freshman asked – or was it really – Kogure to tutor him again; apparently it was out-of-character, knowing Rukawa's ways to bloat his ego, and it actually made the senior hesitate. The kiss – it was preposterous, and most of the time he even pinches his cheek to see if the verifiability of his consciousness has truth-value; the process of analyzing it would always be a vague argument, perhaps a mystery, but of course, knowing Kogure's habitual utterance and action of kindness and godly sympathy... his choice would never be open-ended.

"Guys, hey, listen," Another battle of who gets to die first with a deadly stare, literally – Kogure was the first victim, almost fainting because such game has been roundabout since they started sitting on the miniature cushions near the study table.

"Guys!" Kogure finally said, his existence stumbling upon the realms of silence.

"How could this sloth gain more points than me?" Mitsui asked in full bewilderment, seemingly burdened by this question he considered to be the most intellectual.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, look; this dialogue should end with a period, not comma. Why is he correct, huh, huh?" The blue-haired senior taunted, poking the forehead of the dozing freshman.

"It's okay, Mitsui, it's a rhetoric style for succession,"

"But you didn't tell me!"

"Idiot."

Kogure glanced in anxiety. Mitsui stared in acid sentimentality.

"What did you say?"

"Uh, uh, there's no need for another fight guys, listen,"

"No, you listen Kogure; his prose is peppered with grammatical and punctuation errors and you tell me he's better than me – geez, this is supposed to be a favor—"

"Do you want drinks?"

"Give me plus points and I won't blackmail you."

"Coffee, tea, or juice?"

"Tell me I'm better than that bastard."

"Perhaps tomato juice?"

"Kogure—"

"Coffee."

Rukawa dozed, again. Mitsui was silenced. Kogure was grateful.

"What's yours?" he asked Mitsui.

"Tomato juice with lemon grass,"

"There's no such thing Mitsui,"

"Espresso."

"We don't have any, Rukawa, sorry..."

"I'd settle for a tomato juice with leek then,"

"Green tea."

"That's enough, both you." Kogure let out a sigh as he walked towards the kitchen, not really sure what just happened; in the stillness where his psyche tried to scrutinize such frustrating successions of preposterous complex, he remembered quite fully the essence of it all. Days before, Kiminobu asked the ex-gangster to complement the focus Rukawa should have to pass a failed subject, obviously owing to the phenomenon that led him into tutoring Rukawa for the second time. By complement, Kogure expected Mitsui to coerce the freshman to avoid dozing off while he talks, forestall another psychological discovery (apparently it scandalized the russet-eyed senior to know 'insecurity' emanating from the raven-haired), and most especially, to rule out the possibility of another phenomenon called kissing. He was that afraid – he almost surprised himself sometimes – but what is he supposed to do now that are two Rukawa's?

"What is this?" Mitsui's head bowed to examine the clear glass that emitted rainbow colors with the sunbeams. "Tap water."

"And Rukawa gets coffee? What's this? Favoritism?"

"He needs it so he'd stop... uh, dozing off."

Rukawa's body shuddered from an unknown zest and actually made the chocolate-eyed senior's spine to tingle; opening a book he started to write something on a piece of paper. Quite unimaginably this moment is – defense mechanism? "Uhm, okay, we're going to start again. Please, I need both of you in this; and Mitsui, I'm sure you'd learn more from this lecture because apparently your grades are failing too,"

"Whatever."

Kogure sighed. "Okay, what part of the sentence answers the question 'what'?"

"That would be the infinitive," Mitsui said gallantly, arms crossing and stare fixing onto Rukawa.

"That would be incorrect," said Kogure.

"What do you mean incorrect?"

"Indirect object." Rukawa muttered, annoyed at that, too.

"Good Rukawa,"

"Hey there, why didn't I know that?"

"Because you didn't read the book I told you to glance at,"

"Beh. Come on, give me your best shot then."

Mitsui's heart thumped. Rukawa's eyes closed. Kogure tried to focus.

"Okay then; what action differs in context and meaning?"

"Eh? How should we know? That's irrelevant to the subject we're studying; I refuse to answer that."

"You told me to give you my best shot; and it's relevant..."

"Indexicality."

"Say what?"

Mitsui cannot believe this;is he here only to humiliate himself? The situation he predetermined with Kogure was his choice to nourish his ego but it seems the other way around; moments such as this has been roundabout since Kogure started to bombard them questions from another galaxy, or perhaps he was just too nonchalant about them. Would one's knowledge with indirect objects help him to shoot three points in the court? Certainly not, but the moment he thought about this he himself became humiliated – what did Kogure call it? Yeah, a fallacy.

"Semiotics."

Rukawa muttered again, earning another lovely smile from Kogure. Secretly, that is.

Kogure sighed.

"And how is it relevant, may I ask Mr. Omnipresent?"

"When you write a clause in your prose, say, 'that's very funny', it mostly means something is humorous, right?"

"So?"

"But when that clause is contextual in sarcasm, it may mean something other than something humorous,"

"Hmm..."

Mitsui's fingers started to caress his chin, a sign of thinking. Kogure sighed, somehow, in relief. Rukawa closed his eyes again.

"Okay, we'll start about judging assertions; I see that you failed deliberately on this part, Rukawa," he said, staring at the test paper which was bloodied from obvious bases.

"What kind of assertion is this – _newspaper columnists criticized his work as prime minister_?"

"Exaggeration; I mean, all of newspaper columnists? That's just overstated."

"Misleading."

Kogure sighed. "It's an over-general assertion; Mitsui was right that not all columnists would criticize the prime minister but to say that it's an exaggeration is another story. What about this one – _I am a nurse_?"

"Ambiguous."

"Vague."

"You're right Mitsui; it's vague, because it didn't denote what kind of nurse I am. Ambiguity means something else, Rukawa. Let's see... okay – _kissing in public places is prohibited because it is against the ordinance_."

Mitsui smirked. Rukawa's eyes opened wide. Kogure is confused.

"What?"

"Nothing..." Mitsui teased, his smile reaching up to his ears. "I don't know the answer. Do you, Rukawa?"

"Tautological."

"Wow. You know Kogure, Rukawa knows almost everything but why is he asking you to tutor him? It makes me wonder so many things..."

"Shut up."

"Got your weakness, eh, Rukawa?" Mitsui laughed sarcastically then. Kogure's brows have been furrowing the whole time of the conversation though; as much as he would want to smack the hell out of Mitsui for not helping him – at all – to avoid reminiscing what happened, he just couldn't, evidently because Mitsui was his best friend.

"You're right, Rukawa. This one then – _the sunset is lovely; and because we have money we will have dinner_,"

"Misleading."

"_You're right; hence you must take the right road,_"

"Ambiguous."

"_Get a life; you are insecure and thus get a life_,"

"Strawman fallacy."

"_Get a life; you are insecure because you don't have a life_,"

"Red herring."

"Hey... hey! What the hell is going on?" Mitsui's apprehension was blissful in terms of teasing the russet-eyed; but of course he should at least play the role of a mediator to further the things in terms of amusement and anything else Kogure and Rukawa would feel.

"Why did you ask to be tutored, Rukawa?"

"I failed my subject."

"You chose to fail your subject; you could perfect an exam for Pete's sake,"

"Yeah, Rukawa, tell us – honestly it's been vastly intriguing me how you answered Kogure's question precisely when you've been dozing in your classes."

Kogure sighed. Mitsui fixed his stare. Rukawa gulped.

"I want his company."

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TBC 


	3. Three

**the fact that the anime is not mine plus ooc-ness equals disclaimer. flames/reviews welcome.**

**Chapter Three

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**

The deduction of it all is simple for Hisashi Mitsui; the ostensibly quiet room remained boisterous from some unknown voices that haunt the ex-MVP like mantras on a deadpan night – scattered books, notes and pens were angular and precise at Mitsui's consciousness, much more as his eyes pass by the lot of such noir room. The objectivity of some happenstance worth judging lies now on the revolutionary and rascal thoughts of the blue-eyed besides the life of his chocolate-eyed friend; uneasy silence lingered on their mouths like saccharine and there goes the best epoch of their adolescence on a lovely day of summer solace – Kogure nodding, Rukawa gulping for the third time, Mitsui smirking in malice.

Then, as if the totality of the universe swaggers in slow motion, Kogure can catch sight of the succession as Mitsui's arms fling as to knock the study table like door; silence left the room in an instance on account of a slapdash thud suddenly – and Kogure shuddered.

"Well now, I better be going," Mitsui has said, gathering his notes and pens and even the glass of water.

"What?"

"Akagi called me; something with the game."

"You don't have a cellphone," Kogure muttered, almost breaking down because of some foreboding, and he can already imagine the situation where the russet-eyed is isolated with the epitome of isolation himself, Rukawa. "And I didn't hear the phone ring either,"

"Call it original consciousness. Edmund Husserl." Mitsui said, drinking the water right after.

Looking at the emptied glass, "I can make tomato juice with lemon grass if you want,"

"No need. I'm going anyway."

Mitsui strolled towards the door, earning himself a naughty victory as manifested with his smile that reached up to his ears; of course it was unspeakably amiss to leave his friend floating in airs of awkwardness which are akin to emotional breakdown, but seeing this invented choice superlative with regards to noshing his mischievous ego and finally putting an end to this silly game towards intimacy, he then opened the knob and prepared to leave. "See 'ya round."

"Rukawa, I'd be back in a minute," and Kogure dashed towards the ex-gangster leaving the raven-haired quite puzzled; Rukawa sighed, probably from relief, and fixed his sight instead on the two seniors with an audible range on a par with 'spider sense'.

"What are you doing? You're supposed to help me here," Kogure has muttered in rough whispers.

"You know, I can shove to that jerk I'm more intellectual but I'm doing you a great favor," and his eyes quickly passed Rukawa by, who happens to be intently staring as well. "Eh... or not," he sighed.

"Great favor? You're teasing!"

"Hush... Rukawa'll hear you,"

"Please, I need you in this; I'd be dead later if you leave."

"Dead? Yeah right; you kissed back for chrissake!"

"Uh, I don't know what else to do anyway,"

"Why don't you just confront him?" Mitsui, in all his effrontery, has somehow managed to say this in an extent where the freshman could hear it clear-cut. To further this complex, he looked at the ace player. "Hey Rukawa,"

"Hnn,"

"You got an exam that'll decide whether you'd play basketball or not. And that's 'how to shout I like you'."

"You got a business with Akagi, right? You can go now – thanks for the time!" Kogure verbalized in discomfiture, pushing his friend outside, actually opting to be solitary with the ace player than to be episodically harassed by a senior high school student in his spoiled and wild imagination.

"Your mug!"

"You can have it!" Kogure sat down then in front of the freshman; Rukawa snubbed the idea of going against the ways of his senior because of the apparent redness in Kogure's face, because of the apparent reason that established this certain comic reality – his stubbornness.

"Let's rest for a while." And Rukawa just nodded in agreement.

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With time passing by, strolling its metaphysical self in a direction unknown to beings such as a certain chocolate-eyed, rowdy images of the raven-haired blink on his psyche like drizzle on a subdued day only to realize he's been fixing his gaze at Rukawa for the whole twenty-two minutes, which by they way oddly seemed to be hours for both. Reeling on a contradiction like roses without thorns or cigarettes without nicotine, it feels odd for all some cagey reasons, like chosen truth when situations such as this come undone.

It was a matter of sentimental admission for Kogure; of course it was simple to grasp the conclusion in the raven-haired's behavioral premises – such as asking for English lessons when he can write like Salinger, offering a basketball lesson when he already knows that Kogure can play better than Yasuda, or even just a matter of sighing 'I want his company' – but it is just downright... confusing. Kogure can whole-heartedly come clean with the fact of his mediocrity. But somehow Kogure hopes to find a hope for this emotional darkness to be overridden by something not as toxic and blue as great indoor like rejection; and this condition Rukawa was giving him is so poignant like summer afternoons that melt anything, most especially the chill of indifference.

As if he had the enthusiasm, Kogure tried to smile, but the thought of memories within each memories started to black out in the mist of the brown-eyed's mind, reeling as if those memories are empty nothingness that swirl helplessly, creating joints and joints of conception he never had before. And he can't help standing on something, asking forgiveness to people of imaginary realms, of images that flicker right about everywhere his sight. But briskly stretches seemed very cosmic to Kogure's eyes; awkward warmth faded away like winds passing by their existence. It must be the weather. "What catch," Rukawa whispered.

"Eh?"

"Your smile."

Silence crept as their company; somehow in that silence both of them felt secure enough to worry nothing but the their presence, an acknowledgment that somehow comfort becomes a subjective word seen as an impartial emotion, something that leaks through the minds of people like orthodox and tradition. Of foxes and specs, their emotional investment. But real comfort do not exist but only a representation of how people perceive it; comfort needs no substantiation but presence. Kogure watched the blue-eyed boy smile; Rukawa watched the other's naturalness, and it seemed for the both of them that it wasn't comfort at all, but a reciprocation of emotions sliding down in the haunting winds and majestic skies, the blue backdrop in the mundane day of emotional revelations. But the two can't quite grasp their exploits yet – they will, one of these days – and in these things they do not rationalize but just be as they are.

"You better go home,"

"Yeah,"

"See you tomorrow, Rukawa."

"Uh... hnn."


	4. Four

**Chapter Four

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**

After all the wit, all are just wordplay.

This is due to the impeccable (as if all were designed) circumstances that have conditioned the very idiosyncrasy of Kogure of martyrdom, his eyes sore from a failed attempt to fathom the implications of yesterday, to comprehend the 'atypical' happenstances that brought his mind into near insanity; and now his body is Nagasaki and Hiroshima bombed by atomic bombs, with all the special effects that flicker in his mind, due again to a near-insane but highly imaginative mind. Muscles are twitching, in rhythm with his heartbeat, and some more seconds after is another dose of psychological torment at the sight of Rukawa striding the floors of gymnasium. He's late, which adds more to the idea of becoming atypical and all that clichéd reasons.

And while on one hand a certain brunette is suffering from aphasia (or even neurosis, Kogure cannot specify why though), Mitsui – the self-proclaimed god of sarcasm – is savoring the dreadful air Kogure breathes; apparently he's suffering from schizophrenia, as he thinks of nothing but the milieu that surrounds his existence, that milieu of maniacal mirth that makes him miss shooting three-points as his grip on the ball loosens more, in which Kogure would glare and Mitsui would sarcastically smile, and the rest would be cyclic events. Rukawa strides and the sounds of his sneakers are penetrating Kogure's eardrums; it was that unoriginal scene in movies that attempts to add more suspense but fails miserably, but of course in this case Kogure thrived in agitation, and Rukawa is almost aware of this, and so to avoid 'displeasing' (Rukawa happens to think of the binary opposition between pain and pleasure) he turned around, walking like a psychotic man.

"What the hell are you doing Rukawa?" the redhead has commented, stopping just in time for another nonsensical bickering. "You've lost it, I'm telling you."

But Rukawa is just as deadpan as the whole gymnasium is, walking forward and avoiding Kogure while his body faced the other side; question marks have etched on the heads of others, and because the captain still isn't around, petty and ridiculous actions are morally permissible. He reached the lockers, and closed the door with a loud thump. And it all seemed predetermined as another thump reverberated and the gorilla enters, quite exhausted from schoolwork; but because his life is confined in the four walls of the basketball gymnasium such exhaustion faded like evaporating sweat on everybody else's foreheads, and at quick moments he changed his attire right after Rukawa, and that frightful we-should-practice-rigorously-hence-fifty-laps reminder, and one can always tell what the members feel by looking into their distorted faces. So they ran. It's such a wonder though because no one complains.

"Hey, Kogure,"

"Don't even talk Mitsui; I already know."

"The thing with you and Rukawa is not the only phenomenon in the world y'know,"

"Yeah yeah, spare me from that chestnut,"

"Anyway; you free tonight?"

"I have an exam tomorrow."

"There's no class tomorrow."

"Yes there is."

"In la-la-nerd-land yes,"

"What torment are you planning eh?"

"Shh!"

"Kogure's too noisy Akagi, tell him that,"

"I'm sorry Akagi-san..."

Kogure glared. Mitsui smirked. Sneakers pierced the floors.

"You're nemesis."

"I know; so, are you free or not?"

And Kaede Rukawa is deadpan, they say; aloof and always not giving anything away – but in times like this, in situations where his radar sets up red alert from an intuitive reason ala Descartes, his pace furthered, inching closer, smacking the blue-haired's shoulder as he passes by, shrugging as if nothing actually happened. Mitsui stopped running, so did everybody else, except Sakuragi who still happens to be running like The Flash. Kogure gulped. Rukawa shrugged, again. Akagi is starting to get infuriated. Ayako started to walk towards them, sensing another gangster brawl, which is an everyday thing for the rest.

"What the hell was that for Rukawa?"

"Sorry."

"As if you meant it shithead."

Trying to identify the very primordial reason why suddenly pandemonium visited the basketball gymnasium, Akagi stepped forward in an attempt to spank chaos out of the place and continue on savoring his obsession over National Championship; as he did so people of weaker hearts and minds stepped back, and like any captain would do (Akagi thinks so), he banged the heads of Rukawa and Mitsui.

"Now I get to be thumped by you! This is conspiracy!" Mitsui shouts as he caresses the corner of his head, looking at everybody else as his childish self suddenly waved hello as comic tears started to well in his eyes.

"Petty instances like this are not allowed. Warm up!"

Amazingly, or fortunately for Kogure and for peace's sake, no one complained and the began dissipating to warm themselves up; youngsters such as Yasuda started to practice shooting while the redhead teases and mocks them at their futile efforts, with Mitsui the god of childishness sitting at the corner. The same old mundane backdrop where people are automatons, with the usual Haruko sighing in desire, Ayako shouting endlessly for encouragement, some more shooting and seemingly refined improvements. And Kogure just kept silent and became an automaton just like everybody else; it's that mechanism against distraction, and he argues he'd rather be an android than be the ego succumbed over the idea of entertaining and welcoming insanity. He misses one three-point, and bit his lip.

"Sempai,"

Kogure began to swivel in a very slow pace, almost having another inkling of pandemonium; he tried to smile at the sight of Rukawa as aloof as ever, which only made it worse as those ice blue eyes stabbed his consciousness, disturbing at that. "Uhm, what is it Rukawa?"

"You missed."

Was it an insult? "Yeah, I know; I'm not as good as Mitsui or you,"

"I'll teach you then."

Yes, it was an insult.

"Eh?" Rukawa, dribbling the ball that seemed to be sparkling from unknown metaphysical reasons, set his body on a stance that is very familiar to the russet-eyed, and after some more refined dribbling tried to shoot. He missed.

Rukawa glared at the ball. Question marks carved Kogure's head.

The raven-haired grabbed another ball, and he misses.

He tried again, and he misses.

"It's all right Rukawa," Kogure said, patting the other's shoulders, "you don't look like well today, yes?"

"I am well."

"You can teach me some other time."

"I'll teach you now."

"Some other time; and I already know that stance anyway. I'll be better next time." And with that failed attempt to flirt, Kogure guessed, Rukawa bows his head and sat on another corner; Mitsui was already laughing his ass off in such antic and everybody else was looking at the ex-gangster with intent. "What? Laughing is prohibited too?"

And the ball flew straight at him.

* * *

After all the wit, all are just passé drama. 

This is due to exhaustion that all felt, where side-splitting stunts cannot enter the consciousness, well perhaps beside Sakuragi who still kept on yelling at the top of his lungs, full of promises to realize and full of nonsense, too. Kogure couldn't help but to dramatize within him all the happenstances that brought him in such exhaustion, and it's not because of practicing (as his efforts aren't comparable with Miyagi's) but because of the psychosomatic ordeals he suffered; Mitsui is still bugging him, and Rukawa is still bugging him, and suicide – for all its worth – is a choice in this odd situation but Kogure still wants to be a nurse so he just let his ears get burned with wordplays the other two have been making. And this becomes more comfortable; for one thing, Kogure has already lost his ears so isn't really listening after all. His intentional mind has directed itself towards more significant things, academics most especially, those assignments which he found to be too easy for youngsters like him; he also has directed his intentional mind towards relaxation. Husserl must be right in saying how the consciousness is vastly inventive as to mold a feeling suitable for consciousness itself. Ah, he can already feel the shower!

Several quick moments after, Mitsui left because of the realization of uselessness in talking with his friend; actually it was a plot to tease yet again the russet-eyed, and because he cannot undermine, in any way, the mental prowess Kogure possesses, he left a feeling of defeat, and decided to plot a better hoax. Meanwhile, Rukawa – the god of stubbornness – is still stalking Kogure; Haruko the lovely girl has invited him to study their common subject together, but because the raven-haired despised anyone who has H as first letter of name (Sakuragi included) he replied with a soft-spoken no. That was it. He argues he'd rather be an idiot than be succumbed to self-deception, that bad faith which only leads into rotten and despicable existence; ergo, he'd rather be a dog trailing behind Kogure than to be in an overrated scene of mush with the lass.

Kogure swiveled. Rukawa shuddered.

"Is there anything you want Rukawa?"

"I... tutor me."

"I'm sorry Rukawa, that won't work anymore. Where d'ya go home? I thought you're north?"

"Change of route."

"Really? Won't you get tired?"

"Kogure-san!"

Kogure swiveled, again. Rukawa raised an eyebrow.

"Uhm, Ryonan?"

"Yes, I'm from Ryonan. I'm Sendoh."

"Oh," and Rukawa could only sardonically smile, because the sigh meant the brunette doesn't know him much amidst that fame. He'd like to think so anyway. "Ah, that Sendoh."

"Yes. We're neighbors?"

"No, I... I just stopped because Rukawa's here,"

"Oh,"

That dreadful oh which meant go-away-raven-haired.

"Anyway, nice meeting you, Sendoh-san,"

"Oh, yeah, me too," he said, scratching his head and he raised a hand, holding Kogure's, and this made Rukawa wince from oh-so-known reason. One of these days, he's going to plot a better insinuation.

* * *

_i haven't written for ages, so i think this one is too corny. disclaimer apply. this is unedited so sorry for the mistakes; reviews are always welcome._


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